


How are you today, JFK?

by DigitalisC



Category: Heathers (1988)
Genre: Diary/Journal, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 02:05:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10065284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DigitalisC/pseuds/DigitalisC
Summary: Diaries are nice and all, but sometimes, talking to pets helps more.Veronica talks to her cat JFK about her problems, talks to herself about her problems, and talks to her diary about her problems. She has a lot of those.Post-movie. Talks about JDonica and the Westerburg deaths, and slight mentions of suicide...type...stuff? Not as heavy as the movie itself, though.





	

**Author's Note:**

> the first thing i post and it's a late night/early morning drabble about veronica talking to herself. yeah, that sounds like me.

She noticed her black, sleek cat sitting on her bed just before she slipped into her room.  
“God, you wouldn’t believe the day I had.”

Veronica dropped her school bag just inside her door and shut it, glad that her cat was in her room for once. She wasn’t generally one to keep pets captive, but he had come in on his own, and like hell she was about to leave the door open. With how rarely she kept her room open during the day, JFK rarely meandered in, but on the rare occasions he did, she loved his company.

Diaries absolutely have their powers and charms—and far be it from Veronica Sawyer to deny that much, with how many full journals she’d stacked over the years—but sometimes, talking to a real, living creature made a massive difference in how she was feeling. Something about a response, or at least one she could pretend was there. Blank pages had plenty to absorb, not much in the way of feedback, and a feel like nobody could possibly notice. Cats, on the other hand, she could at least pretend were really listening.

If JFK got up and started making motions or noises at the door, she’d let him out, she told herself.  
…That was if she stayed awake and not crying, she corrected, so as to not make herself out to be an inevitable liar.

Veronica had flopped onto her bed just the same as she had the day before, curling up into something of a ball, only bothering to take her shoes off at the door when she came in, nothing else. What a fucking day.

A hell of a way to go out, she thought.  
With a bang?  
With someone watching him, waiting for it?  
With a girl three years his junior standing on the steps, blinking back tears she’s unsure he saw, putting on a brave face in the face of her psychotic ex-boyfriend’s impending dramatic death?

What a fucking _day._

“Don’t ever date, JFK,” she grumbled while pulling her legs further into her chest. “Don’t ever even talk to anyone.”  
The cat, reading her mood, walked up with caution and no intent to receive affection. He simply laid down within her reach after kneading her bedsheets for a moment.

Watching the motion made her feel a little better, at least. And making eye contact was kind of nice, too, once she thought about it.

“You’re never seeing that guy again, little pal. You or I, never saying another word to him.”  
JFK’s ear twitched. Veronica could pretend that was a sign of comprehension, sure. Why not.  
“God, and everyone just feels so fucking bad for me, don’t they? Oh, he committed suicide, so did your friend, you poor thing.” She stared at the feline for a moment, hoping to see a reflection of something she knew she couldn’t find, and groaned before rolling onto her back and splaying her arms and legs out. JFK didn’t even flinch at the impact of her arm just above him.

“I didn’t want him dead. I didn’t want any of them dead. Did you ever meet Kurt or Ram? Assholes, both of them, but god… I didn’t want to kill anyone.” She pressed her head back into the pillow and looked at the ceiling. “Or who the fuck knows, maybe I did. It’s not a crime to want people _gone._ Guess nobody leaves without force, though, huh?”

She felt pathetic. Vile, disgusting, ready to curl into herself until her clothes consumed her and she could be gone the way she’d wished Kurt and Ram could have been, or the way she wanted Heather to be, making a nice and weak little black hole in the middle of her bedsheets that nobody would have to worry about. Maybe they could melt it down for fuel, the little void mass she’d be. Sell it to some collector. As long as it didn’t have her consciousness, Heather could play croquet with it, for all she cared.

Hell, maybe if it did, she’d have fun getting plonked around.

She turned her head to look back to the cat, now laying listlessly on his side. “Do you think a therapist would tell the police about something like that?” Rolling her eyes at herself, she groaned. “God, I’d have to lie to a therapist, wouldn’t I. Say it was all fucking JD, that I didn’t do a damn thing but watch and feel scared like a weak, spineless dumbass.”

Veronica reached out a hand to scratch at JFK’s neck, sighing.  
“Don’t let me miss this guy too much when I wake up, will you?”  
He purred in response.  
“Yeah, you’re right, nothing you can do.”

  
And she spent a short while like that, gently rubbing at JFK’s silky fur as she lay on her bed, tears falling from her eyes with no emotion behind them, not that anyone could see.  
She scoffed at her own internal monologue, droning on about how she must look, crying with a blank face, tears catching dust and soot and the blood of her dead boyfriend as she pet a cat.

Definitely looked crazy.  
Definitely the kind of thing she should be seeing a therapist about.

Veronica wondered, briefly, if she’d ever be able to listen to fireworks without being reminded of him. She promptly chastised herself for thinking it at all. “Great, now I’ll always think of thinking about it. And it’ll be my own damn fault. God, I’m not even making enough sense for you to follow if you _were_ listening, am I?”

JFK’s purring continued.  
She felt sick to her stomach, and acutely aware that she wasn’t tired.  
Not wanting to leave JFK alone on her bed, she spent a few more minutes stroking the full length of his body before sitting up and walking to her desk.

Veronica decided to forgo putting on her monocle. She wrote fine in school without it, and it was her own writing and her own journal anyway. Why the fuck did she even have it?  
For times she didn’t feel like lethargic shit, she reminded herself.  
She penned what she had expected to be the shortest entry of the month, but ended up rambling for much longer than she anticipated.

 

> Dear Diary,
> 
> I don’t know, I just want to think that this could have gone at least a little better. Four people are dead, and I miss a grand total of one and a half of them. Here’s to me in the future guessing who makes up the pieces.
> 
> I should probably say what the pieces are, for my own reference and maybe piece of mind, but I don’t feel like giving a shit.
> 
> I was going to actually write serious feelings or something, but I guess it just wasn’t meant to be. But since I’m the one writing, I guess it’s my job to make the attempt, isn’t it?
> 
> I know I’m going to miss JD. Talk about stereotypical teenage crap, seriously, but I know I’m going to miss him. I think he thought he was a pretty good person. He was a nice boyfriend, at least, not that I’m much of a reliable source at this point.
> 
> Shooting at him was not my number one option, but blowing up the school was even lower on the list.   
> Good for me, I have a set of morals or something.
> 
> People think I’m something I’m not. Like I’m this nice replacement for Heather, a nice sweet leader who cares about everyone and thinks we should all get along. All I want is for people to not be such massive dicks, does that really make me a goddamn queen? Not to mention that idolizing a group of assholes is what got us all here in the first place.
> 
> I mean, I guess JD and I deciding we were better than everyone is what got us here in the first place.
> 
> Aren’t we, though? Or weren’t we, I guess? Maybe he wasn’t. He killed people. And who am I kidding, I killed people. I hope the police don’t decide I’m worth searching, because this would be incriminating as hell. I should probably build some kind of lock into this one, I guess.
> 
> I’m sure it doesn’t fucking matter. Having a lock would probably make it more likely to be searched.  
> God, am I worrying about lying to the police again? Jesus.  
> Wonder if JD ruined me or if I was just always like this. Just like this, but no reason to act like it. Probably not JD’s fault I’m a fucking asshole.  
> Definitely not JD’s fault.  
> Whatever. I think I need a nap, whether or not I can actually manage to take one.
> 
> Goodnight.

 

She shut her journal, tossed it across the room for good measure, and slammed her head down on her desk, willfully ignoring the disproportionate amount of crashes that followed her toss.

**Author's Note:**

> i dunno if veronica's cat is ever actually referenced in the movie, but he's in the original script and i LOVE the original script.  
> besides, does anyone look at veronica sawyer and think, "there's no way that girl owns a cat?" of course not. besides, i like that she's pretentious enough to have named it JFK.  
> idk i have ideas about continuing it but probably wont unless it gets a lot of feedback lmao. hope u liked it broskis.


End file.
